


Not Dark Yet

by tictocficsoc



Category: Avengers (Comics), Marvel 616
Genre: Angst, Gang Rape, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Magical Healing Cock, Multi, Rape Recovery, Steve/Supervillains, kink meme fill
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-28
Updated: 2013-02-28
Packaged: 2017-12-03 21:36:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,057
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/702890
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tictocficsoc/pseuds/tictocficsoc
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Pretty much what it says in the tags.  Steve is captured and raped. Tony helps him heal.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Not Dark Yet

Steve had no idea how long he'd been there, naked and strapped to a metal-framed cot in a white, sterile room. The fluorescent lights never turned off, and there was no clock or window to indicate the passage of time. He thought it might've been two weeks or so, but he wasn't sure. Long enough, in any case, to give credence to what the Red Skull had told him when he'd first drifted back to consciousness: the Avengers didn't know where he was. No one was coming for him.

The Red Skull was in charge, but it was Helmut Zemo and Dr. Faustus he saw most often. Skull only came in to gloat and slap him around from time to time; Zemo and Faustus had work to do. They hadn't said so, but Steve knew they were trying to recreate the Super Soldier serum yet again. They'd drawn several pints of his blood and swabbed the roof of his mouth for a DNA sample. Once, aided by half a dozen anonymous goons in imitation SS uniforms, they'd unstrapped him just enough to roll him onto one side for a spinal tap. Steve had put up as much of a fight as he could with just one arm and one leg free, but it wasn't good enough.

He was shackled to the cot with thick steel bands around his wrists and ankles and a thinner, more flexible one around his neck. On Skull's orders, the shackles never came off, not even to feed him. An IV drip and a catheter took care of his bodily needs. It was enough to keep him alive and conscious. Barely.

At first, they'd dosed the IV with some sort of sedative to keep him docile. Now they didn't bother anymore. Blood loss and hunger and days of enforced immobility had weakened him more effectively than any drug could. 

The door opened with a faint squeak, and Steve turned his head toward it, slow and cautious. He'd learned the hard way that quick movements made the edge of the neck strap press painfully into his throat, making him cough and constricting his breathing. By the time he'd finished turning, the Red Skull was already standing at his side, flanked by Zemo and Faustus.

All three of them coming in at once. That couldn't be good.

"I'm sorry to inform you, Captain," the Skull drawled in a smug, oily voice, "that you have reached the end of your usefulness. Your vivisection is scheduled in twelve hours."

"I can't wait," Steve said in a flat voice. He was too exhausted to be afraid and, in any case, would never have shown fear to these bastards. 

"You have greatly advanced the cause of medical science," Faustus told him. "Your life may have been spent in futile struggle for your ridiculous American ideals, but at least your death will have some use."

"No reason to waste these on you now." Zemo removed the IV and catheter. 

"Speaking of use and waste..." the Skull rested one hand on Steve's left thigh. His palm felt rough and unnaturally hot against Steve's chilled skin. "Perhaps we can get one final use out of him." He ran his hand down Steve's leg in a sick parody of a caress that made Steve's skin crawl. "I must admit, Erskine did a fine job designing this body. Traitorous scum or not, he must've retained some vestige of the Aryan ideals, to chose _this_ as the form for an American super soldier.

Steve gritted his teeth. "Get your filthy hands off me, Skull."

"'Filthy'?" The Red Skull's deformed face didn't allow for much expression, but his voice made his disdain clear enough. "You're talking to a member of the master race, Captain. You're the filth here. You ought to be honored that I'm even willing to touch you."

"I decline the honor," Steve growled. Skull only laughed as he went to undo the shackle on Steve's ankle.

It hurt to move, muscles cramping and joints locking after days of disuse, but Steve forced himself through it, managed to graze Skull's jaw with a wild kick before Faustus caught his ankle in one massive hand.

"Hold him down," Skull ordered, and Faustus leaned across the cot to pin Steve's body down with his weight. Steve tried to buck him off but he was too weak, he had no leverage, and the neck strap was digging into his throat again. He couldn't do it. He was helpless.

As the Red Skull spat out instructions, Zemo unshackled Steve's left wrist and refastened it next to his right, on the other side of the cot. Only then did he undo the remaining shackles. Steve tried to fight again as soon as his neck was freed, but Faustus was still on top of him, and Zemo and Red Skull had his legs. 

They hauled him to the floor, made him kneel next to the cot with his arms stretched painfully across it. Faustus held him down with a crushing grip on his neck, as merciless as any steel strap. A weight settled on his lower legs, and Steve knew it was Red Skull only because he could see Zemo standing off to the side.

Steve's mouth tasted sour and his breath came in painful, ragged gasps as the knowledge of what was about to happen sank in. He hadn't feared death or torture, but _this_ , this made the panic bubble up.

_No._

Rough hands gripping his ass, fingers digging in hard enough to bruise, spreading him open--

_No._

Deep, searing pain as Red Skull shoved two fingers inside him at once. Steve's body tensed in instinctive resistance, but that only made it hurt worse. Steve clenched his jaw against the cry that threatened to escape. He wouldn't scream, wouldn't give these monsters the satisfaction. 

The fingers inside him pulled back and pushed in again, over and over, twisting on every inward thrust, stretching him open with brutal, mechanical efficiency. Steve closed his eyes and breathed through the panic, tried to gather his fraying self-control. He wouldn't let them break him, not with this. He could take it. He could.

There was a sound somewhere behind him that Steve dimly processed as a cabinet door opening and closing. "Here," he heard Zemo saying, "use this." The fingers withdrew for a few moments, then stabbed inside him again, coated in something cold and slick. Steve shuddered violently and bit his lip. He could take it. He'd endured torture before, and this was just another way of inflicting pain, not even the worst he'd ever had, he could take it. Wouldn't scream. It was only pain.

The fingers pulled out again. Steve heard the sound of a zipper being unfastened, felt the weight on his legs shift.

_No. Nononono..._

The first vicious thrust of Red Skull's cock made Steve's vision gray out for a few seconds. He made a small, choked sound deep in his throat but didn't scream. It was still only pain, no matter how bad it got. It was all the same: the ache in his abused knees, the bruises from earlier beatings, the burn of bile at the back of his throat. The fingernails gouging into the skin just below his hipbones, the shackles cutting into his wrists, the hard length pounding into his ass, it was only pain, only pain, only pain...

The Red Skull's movements lost their rhythm, became faster and shallower. He went completely still for a moment, thrust a couple more times, then let out a hoarse cry and let his weight slump forward on top of Steve. He stayed that way for a minute or so, then lifted himself up again with a soft, mocking chuckle.

"Thank you, Captain." He patted Steve's hip as he got up. "That was quite pleasurable."

Steve had no strength for a defiant response. He could feel a warm, sticky trickle down the inside of his thighs. His vision was still gray at the edges, and he was shivering in a way that he dimly recognized as an early symptom of shock. He wanted to pass out more than he'd ever wanted anything in his life, but for once, his enhanced constitution was proving more of a curse than a blessing. Unconsciousness wouldn't come.

He could see Skull now, moving at the corner of his peripheral vision, but another weight was settling behind him. A broad hand pressed against the small of his back, and Steve choked back something that might've been a sob as he realized that it wasn't over, that Zemo was going to have his turn.

Where the Red Skull's assault had been nearly silent until the end, Zemo kept up a running stream of grunts, cries and muttered obscenities. He clawed at Steve's back hard enough to draw blood, twisted his hands in Steve's hair as he came. Steve was grateful for the small additional pains. They provided a distraction, gave him something bearable to focus on.

"You going take a turn, Faustus?" Zemo asked as he stepped away from Steve.

"I suppose." Faustus shifted his grip from Steve's neck to his shoulder, pulled him up from his knees onto the cot, and flipped him over onto his back as if he was a rag doll. Steve hissed as the fresh scratches on his back pressed against the rough sheet beneath him, and spat into Faustus's bearded face. Faustus staggered back, swearing, and Steve kicked at him. The feel of his foot connecting full-force with Faustus' mid-section was deeply satisfying, as was the sight of Faustus doubling over with his arms clasped around his gut. Steve tried for another kick, but Zemo and Red Skull grabbed his legs before he could manage it.

"Careful, Doctor." Red Skull sounded amused. "I don't think our guest is enjoying himself."

"We'll have to do something about that, then." Faustus straightened up with a grunt and removed his belt. He wrapped it around Steve's ankles, then looped one end around the cot's frame before fastening the buckle. "There. That should keep him well-behaved." He wrapped one massive hand around Steve's cock and began to stroke.

_No._ Steve bucked uselessly against his restraints. Faustus only laughed and shoved his other hand between Steve's thighs to finger his balls. His hands were rough and warm and frighteningly skilled, and Steve's increasingly frantic struggle only served to increase the stimulation. Steve groaned in helpless protest as he felt himself growing hard in Faustus' relentless grip.

"No." The word escaped him out loud for the first time. "Stop."

"I don't see what you're complaining about." Faustus rubbed one callused fingertip against the sweat-slick skin behind Steve's balls. "You clearly like this." 

He rubbed his thumb in slow circles over the head of Steve's cock, and Steve arched his back and shuddered as he came all over Faustus' hand.

"There. I knew you liked it." Faustus looked down at his fingers with a smug expression before smearing the sticky come across Steve's face. "Now it's my turn." He grabbed hold of Steve's hips and flipped him face down.

Faustus's cock was as oversized as the rest of him, but by then Steve barely registered the new pain. A welcome numbness was spreading over him, promising oblivion in the near future. He tucked his face down against his arms and endured until Faustus finished. Didn't scream. Didn't resist when they pulled back onto the cot and left him lying there, curled up on his side, with Faustus' belt still wrapped around his ankles. Eventually, it sank in that no one was touching him anymore, that he was alone. Steve pulled his knees up to his chest, closed his eyes and finally, gratefully, sank into unconsciousness.

* * *

A metallic clang woke him. Steve turned his head toward the sound, blinked a few times, and found himself looking at a rectangular hole in the wall where the ventilation grate had been earlier. The grate itself lay on the floor. It must've made the clang when it fell.

"Steve. Oh my God." The Wasp's tiny form zoomed across the room toward him and grew into Jan, who leaned over him with a look of horrified pity in her eyes.

She could see it, Steve realized with a fresh surge of panic. He was lying there naked, stained in blood and come, everything that had been done to him written clearly on his body. Jan had taken one look at him and known, and the others were going to come in any second now. Jan was already announcing his location through communicator. Steve clenched his fists and lifted his head.

"Jan..." It hurt to talk, hurt to even _breathe_ , but he had to get the words out. "Don't let the others see me like this."

She gave him a quick, tight-lipped nod and moved toward the back of the room, out of his sight. He heard her rummaging through the storage closet there, opening and closing the door.

"Here." She draped a sheet over him, used one corner of it to wipe his face, removed the belt from his ankles and let it drop to the floor. "I'm sorry, there's not much more I can do."

The door slammed open with a deafening crash, and suddenly the room was full of Avengers, all crowding around him. Thor muttered something that sounded like swearing in Old Norse as he tore the shackles from Steve's wrists. Hank made do with plain English, but made up for it in volume until Jan shushed him.

"Steve." A hand brushed his cheek. Steve flinched, but the touch was gentle, and brought with it a familiar, strangely comforting metallic smell. He turned to see Iron Man bending over him, face plate raised and gauntlets off. Tony's face looked very pale inside the red and gold helmet. "Hold on." He tucked the sheet around Steve's body before lifting him up to cradle him against the armor's broad chest. "I've got you. You're safe now. I've got you. It's okay."

Steve pressed his face against a smooth metal shoulder, and tried to make himself believe it.

* * *

He refused to be taken to a hospital. His injuries weren't life-threatening; the facilities at the Mansion were more than adequate to treat him. The others didn't like it, but Steve simply ignored their arguments, and in the end they wouldn't go against his wishes.

They got him settled in the infirmary, and Thor promptly disappeared to "summon help." Twenty minutes later, Don Blake showed up, quiet and somber-eyed. He examined Steve's injuries with gentle, impersonal hands, applied antibiotic ointment to the scratches on Steve's back, wrapped fresh bandages around Steve's torn wrists.

"Is your immune system as enhanced as the rest of you?" he asked.

Steve felt his mouth pull into a bitter grimace. "It'll fight off the clap, if that's what you're worried about. I'll be fine."

"All right." Blake scribbled on his clipboard with a chewed-up pencil. "I should probably do a blood test just in case--"

Steve pulled his arms in protectively against his sides. "No."

"No. Very well. I've done all I can do tonight. But..." He pulled a small leather card holder from his pocket, sorted through a multicolored assortment of cards inside, then pulled one out and handed it to Steve. "You might want to call this number when you're up to it."

The card was cheaply made, blocky black font on flimsy white paper. Steve looked at it blankly.

"Survivor hotline."

"It's completely anonymous," Blake said. "And the people running it are competent. Many are survivors themselves. Or, if you like, I can refer you to someone. I know some excellent therapists who deal with rape cases. But you really need to talk to somebody."

"Thank you," Steve said in a dull voice. The thought of talking to a stranger made him feel ill. He waited until Blake was out of the room before crumpling the card in his hand and letting it fall to the floor.

* * *

Steve always healed fast. Five days after he came home, the only signs of his injuries were the faint marks around his wrists, and even those faded by the end of the week. Memory, unfortunately, didn't fade so fast.

He spent hours in the gym every day, pushing his body to its limits. If he exhausted himself enough, he could sleep without remembering his dreams. It wasn't restful -- he kept waking with his heart racing and his throat feeling as if he was being choked -- but it was bearable. He could take it.

The other Avengers were cautious around him, trying to toe the fine line between giving him space and being there for him. In the first few days, every one of them had dropped broad hints that they'd be willing to listen if he wanted to talk. Steve had been polite but firm in his refusals, and eventually they'd backed off. Well, all except Tony. Tony seemed to take a kind of hovering position at the outer edges of Steve's personal space, backing off when Steve wanted to be alone, moving in when Steve wanted company. He made small talk about the weather or the news or his latest armor mods, and he seemed to always have a cup of coffee and a sesame bagel handy, no matter what time of day or night it was. In anyone else, Steve might've found it smothering. But this was Tony, and Tony was just... there.

Ten days after the rescue, an emergency call came in. Steve jogged into the Quinjet hangar, pulling on his cowl, and everyone turned to stare at him. He lifted his chin and stared back, and after a while Iron Man waved one gauntlet toward the plane and said "Come on, everyone, time's a-wasting," and that was that.

The emergency turned out to be a HYDRA attack at one of SI's manufacturing plants upstate. Steve was grateful for the chance to let off some steam, but the rage that bubbled up when he waded into the fight frightened him a little. The hapless HYDRA goon that tried to take him on one-on-one ended up with a broken jaw, three cracked ribs and a concussion. Steve was normally better at pulling his punches against ordinary human opponents.

The rest of the team gave him worried looks as he climbed back into the Quinjet, but no one said anything. Steve was fine with that.

Back at the mansion, no one tried to stop him as he skipped out on the usual post-mission briefing and disappeared into his room. Steve undressed and staggered into the shower, more grateful than ever for the deep Stark family pockets that paid for en-suite bathrooms and an infinite supply of hot water. He stood under the steaming spray, and willed himself to stop shaking, 

There was a bruise on his left thigh. He must've gotten it sometime during the fight. It was just a faintly darkening stain under the skin, not even all that painful, and the shape and size of the mark bore no resemblance to human fingers, but just looking at it made Steve want to crawl out of his own skin.

_Rough hands gripping him, forcing him to his knees, holding him down while men who stood against everything he'd ever believed in used his body like a toy for their pleasure--_

Steve grabbed a washcloth and scrubbed at the bruise. It didn't help, of course. Bruises couldn't just be scrubbed off, and neither could memories, or the crawling sense of being coated in filth that haunted him every time he woke from a restless sleep. Washing wouldn't help, exhausting himself in the gym wouldn't help, beating every HYDRA agent on the planet to a bloody pulp wouldn't help... Steve let the washcloth drop, sat down on the floor of the shower, and hugged his knees to his chest. The water streamed over his head and back, hot enough to sting. It wasn't really helping, he knew that, but it made him feel a little better. Maybe he would stay there for a while. Just a few minutes...

"Steve?" Someone was holding his shoulder, talking to him in a soothing voice. "Steve, are you with me? Come on, this is getting a little scary. Talk to me."

Steve looked up, wincing as the spray from the shower hit his face. "Tony?"

"Hey." Tony gave him a lopsided grin that somehow managed to mix relief and worry in equal amounts. "Nice to have you with us, Cap."

"Uhm." Steve reached up to turn off the water. "What are you doing in my shower?"

Tony had pushed aside the sliding glass door and was crouching at the edge of the stall, fully clothed. His white button-down shirt and the front of his trousers were soaked, and his hair clung wetly to his face. He was still gripping Steve's shoulder, squeezing a little too hard for comfort.

"Do you know how long you've been in here?"

Steve blinked. "Not really."

"The briefing ended over an hour ago."

"Oh." He'd undressed just as the briefing had been starting. That meant he'd probably been in the shower for close to two hours. He had no memory at all off the passage of time.

"I came in to see how you were," Tony said, "and heard the water running. So I came back in fifteen minutes. And then another fifteen minutes. And another. And then I came in to see if you'd drowned or something, and you were just sitting there, and you wouldn't _talk_ to me." His voice cracked a little on the last sentence. 

"I'm sorry," Steve said. "I guess I zoned out a little."

"Just a little." Tony gave a shaky laugh as he stood, dripping water on the floor. "Hang on." He took a towel from the heated rack by the sink, and stepped right into the stall with Steve. "Let's get you dried off."

"Give me that! I'm not an invalid." Steve grabbed the towel from Tony's hands and stood to dry himself off.

"I know you're not." Tony sighed. "And I know you keep saying you're fine. But people who are fine don't zone out in their showers for hours at a time. And I've said this before, but I'm saying it again now -- anything you need, anything I can do to help. Just tell me, and you'll have it."

"Fuck me," Steve blurted out.

Tony's head snapped back as if Steve had slapped him. "What?"

"You heard me." Steve grabbed hold of Tony's shirtfront and backed him up against the tile wall. "You asked what I need it, so I'm telling you. Fuck me."

It was true. Steve hadn't fully known it until he said, but now he was sure. Only now Tony was looking at him with wide, hurt eyes and shaking his head.

"Steve, no."

"Why not? I know you want to." He'd noticed it months ago, the way Tony looked at him. It had taken him a while to be sure, a while longer to decide that a relationship with a teammate was worth the risk. He'd been planning to speak in a few days, when Red Skull had captured him, and now... Steve let his shoulders sag in defeat. "It's different now, isn't it? I'm not what you wanted anymore."

"That's not true." Tony raised his hands to cup Steve's face. "Of course I want you. I've wanted you forever, and nothing anyone can do to you is going change that. But you're not well--"

"This will help."

"That's not how it--"

"Tony." Steve closed his eyes and leaned forward to rest his forehead against Tony's wet shoulder. "I don't want _them_ to be the last..." He broke off and took a deep breath. It was so hard to find the right words. "I don't want my most recent memory of sex to be what they did to me. I need something else in my head when I close my eyes at night, when I look down at myself in the shower, when I face myself in the mirror. You said you'd help. Don't make me beg."

For a few moments, they were both perfectly still. Then Tony let out a long, slow breath, wrapped his arms around Steve's waist, and brushed his lips against Steve's temple.

"Come on," he said softly. "Come to bed."

* * *

Tony stripped off his wet clothes right there in the bathroom and left them on the floor, so they were both naked by the time they reached the bed. Tony allowed Steve to pull him in for a long, slow kiss, then drew back a little and rested his hands on Steve's chest.

"You wanted me to help you, you'll have to trust me now. Lie down."

Steve stretched out on his back, with Tony on his side next to him.

"Let me know if I do anything you don't like," Tony murmured, and bent his head down to kiss the hollow of Steve's throat. When Steve didn't protest, he placed more kisses, along the curve of Steve's shoulder and down his chest. His mustache was a little scratchy, but his lips were soft and warm. The contrast was pleasant. Steve closed his eyes and let himself drift a little.

He gasped softly when Tony licked at his nipple, and Tony instantly lifted his head.

"Okay?"

"More than okay." Steve cupped one hand around the back of Tony's neck and guided him back down. "Don't stop."

"You got it," Tony muttered.

He licked and sucked until Steve was squirming against the sheets, then reached down and wrapped his fingers loosely around Steve's cock. Steve closed his eyes again and fought to keep his breathing even. Tony was touching him as if he was made of glass, but his mind kept conjuring memories of Faustus' rough, invading hands.

"Steve?"

"I'm fine," Steve choked out. "Keep going."

Tony did, but after several minutes, Steve was still only half-hard and grinding his teeth in frustration. What the hell was _wrong_ with him? It had taken Faustus all of two minutes to get him hard and get him off, and now here was someone he actually _wanted,_ and he couldn't--

"Hey." Tony shifted his hand to rest lightly on Steve's hip, rubbing lazy circles with his thumb. "Relax. We've got all the time we want. Roll over."

Steve wasn't sure how that was supposed to help, but Tony said to trust him, so he obediently rolled over onto his stomach. Tony straddled his hips, still careful, never resting his full weight on top of Steve.

"I won't break," Steve told him.

"I know." Tony ran his hands from the small of Steve's back up to his shoulders. "But you're way too tense." He dug his thumb into an especially stubborn knot of muscle just above Steve's right shoulder blade.

"Ow," Steve said, followed immediately by "Oooooh," as the knot seemed to instantly dissolve under pressure. "How did you-- oh." Tony was methodically working his way down Steve's back, kneading Steve's muscles into putty with strong hands and skilled fingers. 

When he reached the base of Steve's spine he lingered there a while, before muttering "Okay, let's try this," and sliding his palms downward to Steve's ass.

Steve went perfectly still as he felt Tony's hands gently spread him open, but the first faint stir of anxiety was replaced by a startled jolt when the next thing he felt wasn't fingers or cock, but the slow, wet swipe of Tony's tongue.

"Oh God. Tony..."

Tony gave a small, amused huff, his breath warm against Steve's skin. He licked again, a teasing, feathery touch against Steve's entrance, pushed in a little, drew back...

_Oh God..._ Steve buried his face in the pillow in a vain attempt to keep from embarrassing himself with the noises he was making. He couldn't help it. Tony was _fucking_ him with his _tongue_ , and he could feel his cock hardening, trapped between his body and the soft cotton sheet, and _this_ , this is what it was supposed to feel like, this slow, warm flood of arousal that quickened his breath and curled his toes.

When he started rocking his hips against the bed, Tony sat up and told him to roll over again. Steve flipped onto his back with a sigh of relief, his erection resting thick and heavy against his belly. Tony dipped his head toward it, but Steve slid his hands under Tony's arms and pulled him up, hugging him close until their bodies fit together just so, and Tony's cock pressed against his.

They moved together in a slow, steady rhythm, Tony's face pressed against the crook of Steve's neck and Steve's arms wrapped around Tony's waist. Steve could feel his heartbeat quickening, the sweat beading on his skin. His body tensed again, but there was no fear this time, just pleasure and need.

"Steve..." Tony moaned softly against his skin, and Steve shuddered and came, just a few seconds before Tony did.

For a while, neither one of them moved, and Steve was fine with that. It felt good to just lie there, his limbs all tangled up with Tony's, and slowly catch his breath. He made a small, disappointed sound when Tony finally rolled off him, but Tony just laughed and patted his leg as he got up.

"I'll be right back." He disappeared into the bathroom, reappearing a few seconds later with a damp washcloth in his hand. He cleaned them both off, dropped the washcloth to the floor, sat down at the edge of the bed and brushed one hand lightly over Steve's hair.

"So..." He sounded a little tentative. "You want me to stick around?"

"Hell, yes." Steve grabbed Tony's wrist and pulled him down, rolled them both over until Tony was sprawled on his back with Steve on top of him. Then he let his head drop onto Tony's chest and closed his eyes.

"Thank you," he whispered.

Tony stroked his hair and muttered something that might've been "You're welcome." Steve was too tired and relaxed to be sure. He listened to the steady, reassuring beat of Tony's heart, felt the slow rise and fall of Tony's chest beneath his head, and drifted into a deep, dreamless sleep.

**Author's Note:**

> Written for this prompt on the now-defunct marvel_kink meme: "I want a graphic non-con with either Crossbones/Steve, or RedSkull/Steve, or Zemos/Steve, or hey, make it a gang rape. Remember that scene in Operation Galactic Storm where all the villains were holding Captain America down? Plus, all those times the Red Skull has Captain America chained up (many, many times), he finally does something with him.
> 
> ...and then I want Tony to rescue Steve, or be involved in the rescue (hello, Avengers! ...and then there is Magneto), and then h/c with Steve/Tony or Tony/Steve. Yes, I know come bathe into the healing light of my cock is lame, but I still want sex in the h/c! It can be frottage, but make it graphic, thanks!
> 
> Set it a decade back, Civil War does not exist, nothing is edited by Joe Q, lalala thank you."


End file.
